


kiss me, darling

by serendippety



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, OTRA phase
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendippety/pseuds/serendippety
Summary: “What I’m saying, Niall, is that kissing Liam is an experience,” Harry posits. “A delicious experience, with a tongue unparalleled.” He reaches for the remote and when Niall says nothing, presses play to start up the film again.
Relationships: Niall Horan/Liam Payne
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	kiss me, darling

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write some lirry friendship because i adore their relationship. but i also wanted to write niam. so now we have this. it's a bit similar ( i want to say?) to one and one and one, but also, probably less compelling. i tried my best to edit this but i got tired of reading the same thing so many times over so here's your forewarning: some of the characters might come off too bratty? and the pacing might be hella whacked. i can't tell anymore,,, i may come back and mess around with it some time in the future.
> 
> also, all that spiel about rpf. it's rpf. the back button is that way if u don't like that sort of thing.

It starts as a question innocent enough – simple, curious, fourteen words strung together in a sentence. And it’s not something Niall has ever thought about – ever thought he’d have to think about. But what is life if not a series of unexpected curveballs?

He laughs as he hops onto the mini platform, skipping over to where Harry is peeling something off the base of his shoe. Behind them, the projection flickers brightly across the stage, broadcasting questions from the sea of fans against a white backdrop. 

Niall knows he’s lucky – knows that not every Irish boy from the sleepy town of Mullingar would ever be able to see what he sees; to do what he does. So, really, he’s got no qualms about doing the smallest of things – answering the silliest of questions – if it keeps the fans happy. It’s the least he could do when they’ve given him so much. 

“If you could kiss any one of the boys, who would it be?” Louis reads. Then he shakes his head once. “Ballsy,” he says with a tut. 

An odd question for sure, but not the weirdest they’ve ever dealt with. 

It’s their first show in America, and already, Niall can see the differences from home: wilder, rowdier and unrestrained. There’s always something about America that makes him feel just that little bit more unhinged; energy coursing through him like a compressed coil, just ready to rocket off into the night. It makes him feel braver, and louder. More obnoxious, even. 

"Nothing ballsy about it at all,” Harry says mildly, smiling when he finally gets the bit of sticky tape off his soles. 

“He’s worried no one would pick him,” Liam teases. 

Louis sniffs. “I’m not gonna lie, I’ll be a bit miffed if none of you pick me.”

“Aww Lou,” Liam says sadly. “I’ll pick you, don’t worry mate.”

It’s silly – really silly – and Niall can’t help it that he’s only been contributing by cackling to himself for the past few minutes. He can see the glee in Liam’s eyes; bright with child-like immaturity. 

“Well, that’s very kind of you-“ Louis starts but Liam couldn’t have meant it – not when he’s smiling like that. Niall sees it coming from a mile away and he’s not disappointed when Liam opens his mouth next. 

“Only joking,” Liam says, side-stepping away right as Louis rounds on him. He ducks under Louis’ arm and twists just far enough out of reach that Louis can’t catch him by the back of his shirt. Then, with great coordination and dexterirty, he slips over to where Niall’s just standing and laughing. 

“I’d pick Niall,” Liam declares, tucking himself neatly against the blonde man. He cushions his chin on Niall’s shoulder, using the shorter man in his entirety as a makeshift shield against Louis. “Like, I’d seriously pick Niall.”

“Aww,” Harry coos, and Louis punches him in the arm weakly. 

“Nothing about any of this is worth cooing at, Harold,” Louis says clicking his tongue.

But “aww” is right, Niall thinks. He grins, absolutely flattered. Can’t help but preen a little even if it’s just a silly game without any actual weight to it. 

“Yeah?” Niall swoons dramatically. “You’d be my knight in shining armour? Sweep me off my feet and all that?” 

Liam winks at him, and laughs deeply. “If you’d let me,” he says earnestly. 

Liam has always been sweet in his considerations, and Niall is more than grateful.

And just because he’s really feeling it, he leans in real close to Liam, lips barely grazing a cheek. It’s like the whole world has stopped to watch, Liam having gone curiously still. He feels powerful like that; knows what everyone’s expecting - the whole world is in his hands. And he could give them what they want. Or he could just blows hot air at Liam. So he does that, and swiftly pulls away, putting some distance between them. 

“Well, I wouldn’t kiss any of you guys,” Niall declares easily, simple and true. Next to him, Liam pouts. “Maybe next time Payno,” he supplies, patting Liam one on the cheek. “You know, when you become a hot chick. I’ll consider it, then.”

“Mate, you’re missing out,” Liam jokes, a strange look going over his face. But then he puckers his lips exaggeratingly, and Niall laughs harder, affection blooming in his chest as he pushes at Liam lightly by the shoulders. 

And really, it’s just them messing around as it has always been. So, he’s not really bothered at all when, in great strides, Harry comes over, and says,” Well if you don’t want him, Niall, don’t mind if I do.”

Somewhere at the back, Louis makes a noise that sounds mostly of rejection and indignance. 

“Lads,” Louis says, but everyone’s watching as Harry weasels his way into the space between Niall and Liam before linking arms with the latter. 

“It’s the birthmark,” Harry explains, as if further clarification had been required. “Very appealing.”

“Appealing,” Niall echoes, neither in agreement or disagreement. It’s a new angle, if ever. 

Harry nods, serious as he tends to be. “It’s pretty hot.”

Huh.

“I can live with that,” Liam says, starting to laugh himself. But he smiles adoringly at Harry, pulling the younger boy in so he can kiss him on the crown of his head. 

And Niall knows that they’re pretty touchy-feely as a band, but that comes as a surprise anyway. He blinks, mystified. Wonders if he would’ve gotten that too if he’d been nicer about things. It hardly upsets him – but he does feel like he’s missed out on something. 

He doesn’t get to dwell on it long though. Because Louis comes marching over, pinching him lightly on the arm before saying, “I am an absolute delight, and at the very least, you could’ve picked me.”

-

There’s something else that’s amazing about America that Niall thinks is just wonderful, and that’s the incredible accessibility of fast food all around. 

He gets tacos after the show, still buzzing delightfully in the late summer air. 

It’s habitual; customary. One of the few things Niall looks forward to whenever he’s miles away from home in the States. He’s not entirely sure what he likes best about these trips: the fact that he gets to have tacos, or the fact that it’s just him and Liam. 

Niall doesn’t have favourites; insists that he likes all the boys the same. But Liam’s company is always special. Different. Fun. Easy. Liam never complains when he gets his own serving of nachos while waiting for the rest of their take out orders to come in. Some may call it greedy; some may call it impatient. Liam calls it hungry. 

It’s easy to like Liam, really.

He watches fondly as Liam finishes making the order; back broad and dependable – a comforting sight from where he’s sitting with his boat of nachos. When the transaction is completed, Liam makes his way over and steals a chip. Niall can’t say he minds at all. 

“You’ve got some sauce on your face,” Liam tells him as he slides into the seat opposite. He reaches up and taps at his own upper lip, and Niall mirrors him, missing the mark completely.

Somehow, they both expected that. 

“Oh- it’s alright, I’ve got you, no worries,” Liam says amiably. He plucks a serviette from the side and slides the tray of nachos out of the way, motioning for Niall to come closer. So, Niall does; no hesitation, no second thoughts. 

With so little distance left between them though, Niall’s suddenly reminded of the question from earlier that evening. He waggles his eyebrows as Liam takes his face in his hands, grinning smugly as Liam’s tongue peaks out from the corner of his lips. 

“Don’t go smooching me now,” he teases, tilting his head up nicely so Liam can reach him better. What he doesn’t intend to do though, is to stare at the perfect curvature of Liam’s lips; tracing it with his eyes up to the point where they split apart just wide enough for Liam’s tongue. 

Niall flushes hotly when he catches himself staring a little too long. He glances away just in time to see the other man roll his eyes. 

“Please, Niall,” Liam says good naturedly. He wipes the sauce off with a quip snap of his wrist, serviette rough against Niall’s upper lip for the briefest of seconds. Then he draws back, satisfied, and smiles. “I have standards.”

And Niall just laughs. Whatever the fuck that means. 

-

It’s maybe a week since the whole thing has transpired, and Niall has more or less forgotten about the whole ordeal. It’s a thought that comes and goes every once in a while; but it’s barely disruptive, and he will admit that Liam has lips that are pretty magnetising. It doesn’t mean he wants to kiss Liam though. 

He does a good job at maintaining that stance, for the most part that is, until Harry happens. 

Usually, Louis is the resident catalyst of bad tidings. Niall doesn’t peg Harry as a troublemaker; the lad too honest - too incapable of lying – to cause much harm to anyone. Which is why Niall finds himself completely blindsided when one evening, Harry springs a question onto him. 

“You don’t want to kiss Liam,” Harry states, sounding mild and disinterested. He doesn’t frame it like a question, but Niall sees it for what it really is. He sits up from where he’s sprawled sideways on the hotel bed to look at Harry, who’s sat near the headboard, legs crossed. 

It’s one of those evenings where they have nothing planned – Niall likes days like these because it means he gets to be lazy without anything hanging over his head. Sometimes, he spends the hours lollygagging, other days, he spends it with Harry, going through his friend’s old selection of romance films. They’re not terrible although he does think Harry needs a catalogue update. 

“Huh?” he says, as if he hadn’t heard the first time. He did. But he doesn’t know why they’re talking about it now, as if it’s somehow still relevant. 

Harry clicks his tongue. “You know? Liam?” he says. “Your bandmate?”

Niall rolls his eyes and stabs Harry’s thigh with his foot. “I know who he is, ya git. Why are we still talking about this? We were just fooling around, right?”

Harry shrugs. On television, the man is declaring his love over dinner, and Harry reaches for the remote to pause the film. “It’s the best part and I’m not going to miss it,” he explains. It’s ridiculously endearing, and Niall can’t help the snort of laughter that bubbles past his lips. 

“Then let’s get back to watching, yeah?” He rolls back onto his side, and stares patiently at the television, willing the people to move. Only, they don’t. Not yet. Harry, apparently, still has got something to say. 

“I just think it’s a waste, is all,” Harry remarks.

It’s a strange comment – like a shot taken in the dark. Yet, somehow, Niall thinks he knows exactly what Harry’s talking about. He groans pitifully. “How’s that a waste?”

“Well,” Harry hums, “for starters, he’s got a really nice pair of lips.”

Niall waits, expecting more. But when Harry doesn’t expound on it, he sighs. “Well, good for him.”

“Good for the _kissee_ actually,” Harry corrects. Niall’s pretty sure that’s not a real word, but he pretends not to have noticed. “Very soft,” Harry adds, stringing praises along like beads on a string. 

Niall’s not sure why Harry’s so adamant about it. Why he’s advertising a pair of lips (that aren’t even _his_ ) like a billboard: all loud and up in your face. Harry makes it sound like he’s missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime, and that doesn’t sit well with Niall. He doesn’t like passing up a good opportunity. Exactly how great can kissing Liam be?

“Yeah?” Niall tries to sound disinterested, but frankly, Harry’s feeding into something he can’t quite understand. His conviction is contagious, and it’s fucking _working_. 

Harry nods - Niall can vaguely see it from the reflection off the television screen. “Plush,” Harry continues, vocabulary extensive in its praise. “Tastes like cherry.”

Well. That’s new, undocumented information. He turns his head to look over his shoulder, interest quite thoroughly piqued. “You know that because…?”

Harry waggles his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“And he’s ace at kissing?”

“It’s possible to have talents in more places than one,” Harry replies seriously. “You’re really missing out if you don’t want to snog him senseless.”

Curious and curiouser. “You’re saying I should kiss him,” he says, but Harry shakes his head dismissively. 

“What I’m saying, Niall, is that kissing Liam is an experience,” Harry posits. “A delicious experience, with a tongue unparalleled.” He reaches for the remote and when Niall says nothing, presses play to start up the film again.

There’s an air of finality in the way Harry declares it, making Niall’s imagination run wild. The conversation is over as abruptly as it had started, but Niall’s not in the right head space for a movie anymore. 

Really, Niall wishes Harry hadn’t said any of that. He’s known for a while now how visually tantalising Liam’s lips can be: the exceptional fullness of it coupled with a pleasant shade of pink; he’d be a fool to not acknowledge the appeal. Allegedly, they’re also cherry-flavoured. 

If he hadn’t been curious before, he’s thoroughly taken with it now. Suddenly, he’s thirsting for some pressure and the taste of synthetic fruit. Niall scowls, surprised by how easily he’s been convinced. Sometimes, Harry makes it so easy to want to push him off the bed. 

-

Harry might have been full of bullshit, but it’s all Niall notices for the next few days. 

The perfect curvature of Liam’s lower lip when he pushes it out in a pout; full and plump and oh-so-inviting. The way Liam sinks his own teeth into them as he tries to cover up a laugh. The way it shines under the glaring lights, so utterly kissable that Niall has to look away. It almost scares him how much he wants to taste it; how much he wants Liam to kiss him. 

He’d been so sure he didn’t actually care for it, but Harry’s got a very convincing case, and Niall is almost quite certainly a fool. The way Harry has set it up to be, Liam is apparently an expert kisser with a reputation. He’s so easy sometimes, it’s a little embarrassing.

There’s a fierce desire brewing in the pit of his gut, just pedalling him towards the point of no return. Suddenly it’s no longer just simple curiosity. Suddenly, Niall _needs_ to know the taste of Liam’s lips – what he supposes is cherry and the distinctive flavour that’s most definitely Liam. 

It’s terrifying how things go from zero to hundred in the span of days. It must be America doing things to his brain. Daring. Loud. _Unhinged_. 

-

The first opportunity presents itself while they’re on the tour bus, travelling to the next city for another show. 

It is uncannily quiet on the bus with an unusual display of good behaviour; the boys all mellowed out because the one person who’s responsible for all that high-end energy is snoozing. It’s a little unfortunate because it also means Niall has absolutely nothing to do. He’s considered waking Louis up just for the kicks but he knows that that would’ve been unkind beyond measure. 

They’re all tired and Louis deserves his sleep.

So, it only makes sense to Niall that he should bother Liam. 

Niall takes a lot of liberties with the way he lives his life. And the boys have never minded, really. Have always let him do whatever it is he wants. Have always spoiled him with their kindness. Which is why Niall doesn’t give it much of a second thought when he plops down right next to Liam on the sofa, before sprawling himself across Liam’s lap. 

And it is exactly like clockwork, the way Liam lifts his arms out of the way so Niall can settle comfortably against him. The way he gently places his hand on Niall’s arm, rubbing absently as he continues to stay distracted by the text he’s typing. 

“Who’re you talking to?” Niall asks. It’s very rarely any of his business, but even so, Liam always shares. Niall likes that about Liam; one of many things that makes Liam so inexplicably loveable.

“My sister,” Liam says fondly. “It’s only July but Mum’s already talking about Halloween.”

Niall grins, flipping over from his side so he can look straight up at Liam. “Your mam’s got her priorities right,” he says. 

But the grin slips off his face in a record time, because while the view from Liam’s lap isn’t flattering per se, he also gets to stare unabashedly at Liam’s mouth unobstructed. Without realising, he licks at his lips pre-emptively, absolutely appreciating how delectable Liam’s lips look. 

He had tried to be very casual about the whole thing – tried to keep the whole itch low on his radar. It just wouldn’t do to be so crude about it. He’s spent a lot of time trying to come up with ways to broach the subject respectably. It had been working perfectly, insofar as he tries to avoid the topic in its entirety. 

Right now, though, Niall couldn’t care less. He doesn’t think twice before he reaches out and wraps his fingers around Liam’s wrist, tugging his hand, and his phone with it, away so that Liam has his eyes on him. 

“Hey,” Niall says. His voice comes out in an embarrassing whisper but his eyes are trained on the peachy tones of Liam’s mouth, absolutely taken by the shade of it. 

“Hey yourself,” Liam answers. He waits expectantly; patient, like the well-mannered man he is.

Honestly, fuck being respectable. 

“Kiss me,” Niall blurts from where he’s lying across Liam’s lap. 

The surprise on Liam’s face makes him frown; it’s not the reaction he’d been hoping to get. Honestly, it’s an open invitation, and Liam should’ve been chuffed that Niall’s offering him a second chance since that night on stage. 

But Liam reaches out and pinches Niall on the bridge of his nose mischievously. He puts his phone away, shaking his hand free from Niall’s grip, and leans over ever so slightly to catch Niall’s eyes. 

“Why?” he asks archly. He looks like he’s waiting for something, and Niall isn’t sure what it is Liam’s expecting. 

“Just ‘cause,” Niall replies. He shrugs as if to say he doesn’t really care. That they could just not kiss, and life would go on as per normal. To some extent, that’s true. But it definitely isn’t what Niall _wants_. 

“But I’m not a hot chick,” Liam points out, and the disappointment Niall feels is almost immeasurable. 

He deflates - hadn’t really expected Liam to remember that. To take that to heart at all. “Oh yeah,” he says dumbly, voice thick with feigned nonchalance. He wants Liam to call him on his bullshit, but Liam doesn’t. He tries a different approach. “But you kissed Harry, and he’s not a hot chick.”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “Being a hot chick wasn’t a criterion I made, remember?” 

Niall ardently pretends not to notice how Liam completely doesn’t acknowledges the statement of having kissed Harry – has to fight the urge to interrogate Liam on the details of it all. The way they talk about it almost seems too casual – as if it's perfectly normal that the two of them would be snogging when nobody's looking. 

“I’d kiss you if you were a hot chick,” Niall says.

Liam’s smile falters a little, a curious expression flickering by. But it’s gone immediately, and he’s grinning again; wrinkling his nose playfully. The glitter in his eyes is a notch duller but Niall doesn’t notice. “It’s just too bad I’m not, then,” Liam replies kindly.

If that was supposed to mean anything, it goes right over Niall’s head. Instead, he pouts; doesn’t like that Liam is letting it go so easily. He sits up, and twists over so he can get a good look at the other man. “I take it back,” he says slowly. “Maybe I’d kiss you even if you weren’t a hot chick.”

Liam grins easily, cheeks lifting, expression gentle. “Yeah?” he asks, eyes turning into crescents. 

Niall nods, eager. “Yeah.”

Had things gone according to Niall’s plan, everything would’ve been over there and then. He’d kiss Liam, find out how great a kisser Liam really is, and how much he tastes of cherry. Then he’d proceed to rub it in Harry’s face. Only, none of that actually happens. 

The end result is disappointing in that the conversation ends there. That Liam doesn’t leverage on that to kiss him silly. It’s almost upsetting how difficult this all is – because Liam had wanted this, hadn’t he? And yet, somehow, he isn’t taking it. 

“Interesting,” Liam muses instead. Then he goes back to texting, and Niall can only go back to reclaiming his space on Liam’s lap. 

It’s a good thing Niall isn’t much of a quitter. 

-

Two weeks later, Niall finds Harry and Liam squatting outside the tour bus, near a row of flowerbeds lined up neatly along a gas station. It’s been raining, and they’ve been told not to go outside. But they never listen. It's boring inside, and that's reason enough to disobey. 

Liam’s got a twig in his hand, and he’s prodding into the soil, fairly unconcerned. There’s mud running up the length of both their shoes, and the tweed shirt looped around Liam’s waist is dipping into a puddle of rainwater on the asphalt. Their heads are put so close together as they stay bent over the ground. For a second, Niall has to stop to take it all in – has never actually considered the two of them to be on this level of closeness.

It’s not that he’s opposed to any of it; he likes that they all get along. But it doesn’t help that two of them have kissed before – like there’s a deeper connection between them that’s just unseen to the rest of the world. The thought makes him squeamish; unsettled. He has to remind himself that there’s no reason to feel that way at all. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks as he walks up behind them. It’s not his intention, but he ends up startling the both of them. It’s a little funny the way they knock heads together, a resounding _clack_ of their skulls as they both swing their heads to look his way. 

“Niall,” Harry beams, but his face contorts a little as he rubs at the sore on his forehead. 

“Hey, babe,” Liam says, wincing. 

Niall loves them both. 

They part to make way for him, inclusive in their kindness. But as Niall squats down to their level, joining them in their little brigade, he sees nothing but the biggest, most slimy-looking slug he’s ever laid eyes on, just sitting in the dirt. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks. Again. Bewildered, this time. The answer hasn’t become apparent to him upon the big reveal. 

“It’s an inauguration,” Harry explains, then he sighs, putting a hand to his cheek. He looks on wistfully, and adds, “I thought it’d be fun to have a fifth member again.”

For a second, Niall's not sure if he's accidentally knocked his head somewhere.

He gapes, lower jaw unhinging. There’s a great pause as he tries to process whatever it is he’s just heard. Of all things, he hadn’t expected _that_. It earns him a good, dimpled smile as Harry laughs delightedly.

“I’m joking,” he says sweetly, and then after considering some, he reaches out to shut Niall’s mouth. “I was just wondering where slugs come from? Do you know?”

“No, I don’t…” Niall says carefully. 

“Do you think they fall from the sky? Could we be getting _slug rain_?” Harry says mystified. And well, no. Niall doesn’t think so. But Harry doesn’t seem to really care. “They live such simple lives. I think we could all stand to learn something from them,” he continues, all doe-eyed and innocent. Then he stands, and brushes down the front of his jeans out of habit. “I’m going to find us a jar.”

“For what?” Niall asks. 

“For Timothy.”

“Timothy?” 

“The slug,” Liam says helpfully.

“You’re gonna keep him. Like a pet?” Niall asks, utterly baffled. He gives Timothy another look and flinches away as it slimes up another pebble. “Lou’s not gonna want that.”

“Well, he can’t complain. There are grosser things in that junk bunk, and we all know it.”

Niall says nothing; only narrows his eyes in contemplation. It occurs to him how remarkably skilled Harry is at arguing his case. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve eaten slugs,” Liam says once Harry’s gone.

Now, Niall isn’t the responsible one in the band but he’s starting to think it’s a bad idea for Liam and Harry to spend too much time together. 

“Payno, that’s gross,” Niall blanches. He’s kind of wishing he hadn’t gotten off the bus; hadn’t decided to join his friends by the asphalt. Their manager had probably been on to something when she told them to stay inside.

But Liam merely shrugs, unfazed. “They just look really plump and juicy… A lot of things like that taste great, don’t they? A peach, for instance.”

“Peaches don’t look a thing like slugs,” Niall insists. 

“There’s got to be something that’s long and juicy,” Liam murmurs more to himself than anything else. 

And really, Niall should’ve just left it at that but he’s also something of a fool. So, before he can really stop himself, he answers,” Your lips, mate.”

The minute he says it though, his skin starts to burn, turning mottled and blotchy with an embarrassment that spreads from his ears right down to his neck. Next to him, Liam chokes on a laugh.

“And here I thought Harry was being the strange one,” Liam wheezes once he catches his breath. He drops the stick and wipes at a tear that’s escaped from the corner of his eye. “Apparently, I've got slugs for lips.”

Niall clears his throat, feeling the heat radiate off his skin. Clearly, he's been spending too much of his time staring where he shouldn't be. Still. “It was a compliment,” he grimaces. 

“On what planet is that a compliment?”

“On my planet, ya dick,” Niall huffs. He stands to leave, but Liam catches onto his hand, keeping him there. He’s still shaking with laugher, barely capable of saying anything – and Niall would’ve really kicked him one if Liam didn’t look so stinking _cute_ with a laugh so _bubbly_. 

“No, no, don’t go,” Liam gasps, grinning madly. “I must know. What does it mean to have slug lips?” 

Niall pouts, still burning hot. He averts his gaze and stares at the slug, all yellow and slimy and rolling in dirt. Honestly, if he’s already this deep in bullshit, then he might as well take his chances. 

“That I would kiss you,” he says dumbly.

“So, you’d kiss a slug,” Liam says.

Niall groans. “I’d kiss _you_. Or you could, I dunno, kiss me.” 

Liam looks up him, glitter in his eyes – amusement rolling off him in waves. “Why would I do that?”

What a dick, Niall thinks. “I’m just saying you could if you wanted to,” he grumbles instead. 

It makes Liam smile, sunny and charming, and Niall’s pretty sure there’s a rainbow somewhere out there. He scowls, but squats once more, obligingly, when Liam tugs gently at his hand. 

“And you’re sure you’d want to kiss me, even when I’m not a hot chick?” Liam asks, a corner of his lip quirking in a playful smirk. He still has his hand on Niall’s, like he’s not going to ever let go. Somehow, Niall’s alright with that. 

He rolls his eyes. “Said I’d take it back, didn’t I?”

Liam bites into his lower lip as the grin threatens to split wider across his face in some kind of twisted amusement. Because Niall isn’t amused – is almost tortured by this awful turn of events.

“Your face is getting all weird,” he says without malice. He nudges Liam in the ribs with his elbow, watching as his friend dissolves into giggles. It’s hard for him to stay mad or upset when Liam looks like that. Without his willing consent, Niall feels a mirroring grin pulls across his own face; happiness contagious. “So, you gonna kiss me or not? Just laid my heart out for ya.” 

“You called me a slug, is what you did,” Liam laughs, but he taps at his chin thoughtfully, lips pursed as he glances off, thinking deeply about it. Instead of answering though, he leans back a little and flips the end of his tweed shirt at Niall, sprinkling him with tiny droplets of gross rainwater. “Nah,” Liam says finally, like the fucking asshole he can be.

And Niall would have totally just toppled him into the muddy soil of the flowerbeds had Harry not come back at the exact moment to save Liam from his unfortunate fate.

-

Timothy dries out in the jar like Niall expects it to, and Louis flushes it down the toilet without an ounce of remorse.

-

The thing about Liam is that while he could be a total jackass about things, he could also be really sweet if he wants to be. And Niall doesn’t like to be bias, doesn’t like to have preferences – because he loves all sides of Liam and the berth of his patience – but he can’t quite help it that he likes it best when Liam’s just looking out for him; taking care of him as if Niall’s wellbeing is his business and his alone. 

Which is why Niall isn’t so bothered – is pleased, even – when Liam catches him by the arm just as he’s walking by, spinning the shorter man round so they’re face to face. 

Niall pats at Liam’s arm delightfully. “Whatchya got for me, Payno.”

“You’ve got an eyelash stuck,” Liam explains. “Hold still, please.”

Then he reaches out and takes Niall’s face in his hands, leaning in close – just as he always does when the situation arises. And with sheer concentration and grace, he gently brushes it off of Niall’s cheek.

It would’ve been over just like that, and they would’ve gone on with their merry little lives with nothing amiss. But Liam is just so close, filling up Niall’s vision; scent heavy in his nostrils – so near and pleasing. It’s not Niall’s fault that he ends up straight at his friend’s lips, admiring the glossy shine of that pink mouth. 

It’s so strangely erotic and he curses Harry for the tenth time since this had all started snowballing. 

It’s perfectly reasonable, Niall thinks, that something would short circuit in his head. And before he even realises it, he’s moving. Like a fool, he reaches out and takes Liam’s face in his own hands just as Liam’s about to pull away. It puts them in a strange position – hands on each other’s faces, and Liam giggles. 

“What are you doing?” Liam asks, an eyebrow arching in question. 

Niall blinks. That’s a good question, he thinks. Because, what _is_ he doing? He tries to come up with a good excuse but his mind is hyper focused on a singular pair of lips and he blurts the first thing that comes to his mind. “Kiss me,” he babbles, loud and unashamed. 

Liam laughs – a deep rumble that sounds like magic – before removing his hand on Niall’s cheek to place it gently atop the other man's hand. 

“This again?” 

Niall scowls, ears turning a furious red. “’m gonna keep askin’ till you give it to me, Payno.”

Liam nods thoughtfully, contemplating deeply, turning his words over with serious thought. “Why?”

“I dunno. You’ll have to kiss me to find out.” 

Except Liam wouldn’t kiss him. At least not on the mouth, where he should. Instead, he turns his head slightly over to the left, pressing his lips gently but firmly into the centre of his palm; upper lip grazing over a callous. The contact makes Niall shudder, heart dipping into an erratic rhythm. 

“How’s that?” Liam jokes, as he pulls Niall’s hands away from his face. He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of Niall’s eyes, not caring much for a response. He jams a finger towards the stage doors and adds, “We’re gonna be out in five, so I’m gonna go find H for a bit, yeah?”

And Niall can’t really say anything to that; just watches quietly as Liam slips away, still feeling the afterglow of Liam’s touch on his skin. 

-

There are too many quiet weeks following that; an entire lack of opportunity to do much of anything else with Liam. Sometimes when he’s idling in the green room of a studio, Niall runs a finger over the singular spot where Liam had kissed him in the centre of his palm. It becomes habitual – the way he absently touches at his hand; almost as if he’s trying to anchor down that sensation despite how fleeting it had been. It’s the closest he’s ever been to feeling the press of Liam’s lips. He chalks it up to that. 

But something about the situation feels changed. A little bit deeper; more complicated. Niall doesn’t exactly know why that is or how that is, but he catches himself staring after Liam a little too often, eyes always searching for pleasant hazel. And when Liam catches his eyes, smiling pretty and laughing brightly, Niall struggles to place a name to the way his heart stutters.

He just wants a fucking kiss, damn it. It didn’t have to be this deep. Didn’t have to be this drawn out. 

He knows though, that the situation is folding in on itself into something catastrophic when one night on stage, Louis gives him a shove, forceful enough that it makes his legs trip over one another. He stumbles sideways, teetering and knocking into Liam who’d been standing on his other side. 

It makes Liam turn to look at him, hand coming up to land strong and sturdy onto a shoulder, snaking casually across to sling comfortably across his back. He breaks conversation with Harry to look at Niall, amusement written all over his face. 

“You okay there?” he asks, giving Niall’s arm a squeeze. 

And it might have been the lights, or it might have been everything that’s led him up to this point in his life, but suddenly Niall can’t stop staring. Can’t stop looking at the way Liam’s looking back at him; the clarity of his gaze making Niall feel vulnerable but safe.

He swallows, heart beat suddenly thrumming; a low buzz that makes his skin feel three sizes too small. “Ye,” he says going a little dry-mouth. “Just Louis being a dick.”

It’s honestly a little too warm for them to be stuck this close together. They’re all slick with sweat, skin sticky and warm from performing late into the humid summer air. But Niall finds that he doesn’t really mind – kind of enjoys being in close proximity with Liam. Doesn’t find it gross that they’re basically glued together with how insufferably icky they are. 

It’s completely irrelevant to the whole schtick that’s been going on – but suddenly, Niall wants to kiss Liam for different reasons. Reasons that don’t stop at cherries and expertise. Reasons that Niall can’t quite explain, but makes him want to lean in just that little bit more even if Liam didn’t taste like synthetic fruit. Even if Liam was shit at snogging. 

And maybe, just maybe, it could also explain why his pulse is jumping, thunderous as the blood rushes past his ears. He doesn’t get much time to dwell on it. 

Louis rolls his eyes, but without malice. He reaches out and tugs Niall out of Liam’s grip, and Liam lets him go so easily. The disappointment he feels can’t have been imagined. “Oh Niall, I’m the biggest ally you’ve got, love,” Louis says.

Niall doesn’t buy it though. Not for one second. Not when he’s just yanked him out of Liam’s side. The magic of the moment is broken as Liam disappears down the catwalk, and Niall can only watch as he goes. 

It’s only later that he realises with some kind of mortification that Louis’ probably right. Because about ninety percent of this is actually _Harry’s_ fault. With the way the odds are stacked though, Louis doesn’t make for much of a convincing ally. Niall supposes he’ll just have to do everything himself. 

-

It takes an old noir film of a couple kissing in the rain for Niall to get his own epiphany. That maybe Liam doesn’t kiss him because he doesn’t like Niall enough to do so. 

People on television always make it look so easy. In some ways, he supposes it is, if the two parties involved liked each other enough. And he likes Liam. Had assumed Liam liked him enough. But he hasn’t been getting that kiss, so that could very well be the problem, couldn’t it? Maybe Liam didn’t like him – maybe he’d just been pulling his leg. And maybe Harry had been in on it too, setting things up for the most elaborate of pranks.

He knows it sounds a bit of a stretch, and he knows it’s unbecoming for either of them. But it’s not _impossible_. Getting a kiss shouldn’t be this hard – but here he is. Weeks in. Still not kissed. 

Niall turns from where he’s lying almost half-way on top of Liam, hand splayed across his friend’s chest, and cheek mushed into the crook of Liam’s neck. It’s soothing - the rise of and fall of Liam’s chest. Where his hand lies flat against Liam’s heart, Niall can feel the gentle pulsing of a heartbeat. There’s a twinge in Niall’s chest that is fuelled by a rolling wave of affection – and it almost seems silly to Niall that Liam wouldn’t like him. 

Still, he needs to be sure. Because why else would kissing Liam be a feat so unattainable? 

“Hey, Li,” he mumbles quietly against Liam’s shoulder. He keeps his voice low because Harry and Louis have both passed out some time ago, curled against each other with the remote still caught between them in a tug-of-war that had dissolved into nothing. 

Liam hums back softly; a sign that he’s listening. He gives Niall a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, reassuring in its presence. 

“Do you maybe not like me as much as the other lads?” Niall asks, yawn punctuating his words. He looks up the same moment Liam turns to look down at him, and is knocked nearly breathless by the intensity of the other man’s gaze. 

And while Niall’s busy staring, Liam prods him one in the cheek. “Where’d you get that idea from?”

Niall shrugs. “You wouldn’t kiss me, so I figured. Liking someone’s a massive part of wanting to kiss them, right?”

“I suppose so, yeah,” Liam answers.

“So, that’s it then. You just don’t like me much?” Even as he says it though, Niall doesn’t quite believe it.

He’s rewarded with a pinch as Liam reaches over to catch a bit of his arm between his own thumb and forefinger. It’s playful, and it doesn’t hurt. The response puts his mind at ease even before Liam has got anything to say. 

“Quite the contrary, mate,” Liam scolds fondly. “It is fact that I do like you. Very, very much, actually.”

The answer does nothing for Niall. Makes his head bounce with how contradictory it all sounds. Because if Liam _does_ like him, then what’s the hold up, really? Why can’t they just snog and be done with it so Niall can finally get a taste of cherry on his tongue? 

“How long are we gonna keep playing this game?” Niall asks instead. He yawns again, open mouthed and unsightly. But it’s just Liam, and Niall knows he’s seen worse. He feels the rumble in Liam’s chest as Liam lets out a low laugh. 

“You tell me, babe,” he replies. 

It’s a reply that’s as useless as everything else before. Niall grunts, too tired to press any further. “It’ll happen. You’ll see,” Niall mumbles. And he leaves it at that, even when Liam draws him in closer, tugging a spare blanket over the both of them. 

Even when Liam says, “Don’t keep me waiting.” 

-

See, there’s something really not right with Niall’s head these days because Liam likes him, and he likes Liam, and everything is as it should be – but also not. It really isn’t because there’s just no way to explain why Niall’s already thinking about kissing Liam first thing in the morning. 

The train of his thoughts just sort of derail itself when he accidentally walks in on Liam in the bathroom, towel hanging dangerously low on his hips with water rolling down the dips in his back. It’s not the first time he’s ever seen Liam without a shirt. But even so, he can’t help staring. 

Liam yelps, turning around, alarmed. There’s a toothbrush in his mouth and foams of toothpaste running down his chin, into the hairs of his beard. “ _Mmfmmrmr,_ ” Liam says, probably properly awake for the first time since he’s rolled out of bed. It makes Niall cackle – he’s always been the best morning person out of the lot. 

“ _Mmfmmrmr_ ,” Niall mimics, and then laughs harder when Liam rolls his eyes at him. “Payno, you gotta start learning to use the lock on these doors.”

It might’ve been the way the sun slants into the bathroom, lighting up the surfaces with a white morning glow. Or it might’ve been the way the room smells so freshly of soap and shampoo. But something about it all seems so intimate, and Niall’s not exactly prepared when his heart gives a tight squeeze. 

He laughs when Liam flips him the bird, because underneath it all, he can see that perfect smile, pleasant on his friend’s face. He continues to linger by the doorway, just watching as Liam turns back to the sink, rinses and spits. The foam washes off cleanly and like daybreak peeking through the horizons, Niall gets the perfect vision of pink lips reflecting off the mirror.

“Are you going to close the door soon, or like, did you want to use the bathroom?” Liam asks. 

It’s a good question. Liam has a lot of good questions apparently. Is he going to close the door? Or is he just going to keep staring? Liam doesn’t wait for an answer though. He exchanges the toothbrush for the shaving cream on the counter and says nothing more; clearly isn’t bothered the slightest that Niall’s still in there with him.

And Niall would’ve gone if he had more self-control. But instead, he finds himself thinking, _kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,_ as he keeps his eyes trained on someone so sinfully delightful. 

It’s only a little later that he catches onto something else. A white label round the base of the toothbrush. The letter “N” is only slightly visible from where he’s standing. It’s slightly offensive that _that_ got to be in Liam’s mouth before his own tongue does.

“Oi,” he laughs, throaty and loud and warm. “That was my _toothbrush._ ” 

-

It is now an unspoken truth that the whole quest for a kiss is just heading towards a breaking point. Niall feels the subtle changes in him; the way he spends too much time just observing Liam. The way he jumps at the opportunity whenever it’s just two of them. It’s probably not nice of him to admit it, but he’s starting to get acutely aware of how he’s developing favourites amongst his bandmates. 

He just can’t help it that he prefers spending his hours with Liam. It’s lost on him whether this has been a recent development, or if it’s always been there. But he’s noticed it now, and it’s probably not a great sign. 

The faster they get this over with, the faster he can get back to living his life. If Liam is as amazing as Harry says he is, then this had all better be worth it. 

The television is a distraction; an expertly utilized tool of deception. Niall is no engineer, but he’s methodical in pulling out the cables and switching the wires around, turning off all the random switches he can find just so it won’t start up. He’s feeling pretty good about his chances tonight. 

He knows, though, that Liam wouldn’t ask. Wouldn’t question why Niall insists on watching golf on the television of Liam’s hotel room, when there’s one in his own. But he has to make sure – has to be on the watch in case Louis comes rolling in, throwing a wrench in his careful design of a plan. Louis says he’s his only ally – but Louis works in odd ways of his own that toes the line of unpredictable. It’s the last thing Niall needs right now, really. He just desperately wants to put an end to this. 

Which is exactly how Niall ends up splayed on Liam’s bed, mindlessly watching some sporting broadcast while observing Liam out of the peripherals of his vision. 

Liam isn’t paying attention; rarely does when it’s not some game of footie. But he’s nice enough to not complain about it; to let Niall just take over the channels as if he hasn’t gotten anything better to watch on the thousands of other channels that came free with their expensive suites. 

He’s texting. Distracted. Niall swallows. He wants that attention. All of it. The selfishness of the thought surprises him, the possessiveness quite unbecoming. He entertains, for a second, the thought of just knocking the phone out of his hands, but holds himself well enough to not act on it. He doesn’t want to be a brat, but most important of all, he doesn’t want to upset Liam. Doesn’t want to hurt him. Who knew a kiss was all it took to reduce Niall to a poetic sap? 

“Liam,” Niall says instead, voice catching in his throat, the way it does when he’s steeped ten feet in with the nerves. 

Liam looks up. “Hmm?”

It’s now or never, really. 

So, just like before, Niall asks. Again, and again, and again. A never-ending quest for victory. “Kiss me,” he says forcefully – slightly demanding in a way that is childish. 

He doesn’t give Liam time to respond – he knows what’s coming even before Liam speaks. There just isn’t any point in waiting for that. He sits up and crawls over to Liam, straddling his friend’s hips with his knees before settling comfortably onto Liam’s lap. 

He reaches out and braces a hand on Liam’s shoulder, and Liam smiles up at him sweetly. Slowly, he puts his phone away and Niall feels the thrill of triumph spike into his veins. He’s serious about ending it today – desperate to finally get that kiss and call it quits. But somehow, sitting in Liam’s lap, he’s not so sure about wanting it to be over.

“Why?” Liam asks, quietly pulling Niall back into the present. He raises a hand to steady Niall by the hip, tipping his head sideways with an expression that’s nothing but quizzical. But he smiles, grin slightly crooked: a picture absolutely perfect. He’s enjoying himself, and it’s _cute_ in some ways but also incredibly frustrating. 

Niall rolls his eyes. “For science,” he answers. It’s not exactly a lie. Ever since Harry had been going on about that cherry flavoured kisses, the whole axis of Niall’s little world has tilted; somehow, he just _has_ to experience that. Needs to know if Liam really tastes like cherry. 

“Hmm,” Liam says. He reaches out and runs a knuckle along Niall’s left cheekbone, eyes roving as if deep in thought. The gesture is strangely intimate, and Niall can’t deny the strange wallop that starts beating between his ribs. He watches quietly as Liam takes him in; assessing the situation like it’s something serious. “For research?”

“For research,” Niall confirms. 

“You’re trying to prove a theory.”

Niall bites his lower lip. “Something like that, yeah.”

And that makes Liam smile wider, warm and disarming. 

Truthfully, Niall didn’t expect it to be that easy. That it would only take that much to convince Liam to snog. So, he’s delighted beyond measure when Liam takes his face in his hands, pulling him closer until their noses are bumping and their lips are pressing. 

In theory, this is no different than all the other girls he’s kissed. But somehow, something about it is just infinitely more electrifying. Somehow, it’s entirely _Liam_ and the thought of it makes the breath go out of Niall like a light punched out, heat blooming high on his cheeks and bleeding quickly down his collar.

Liam kisses soft and sweet, gentle with a pull that’s just gravitating. The glide of their lips is tender, and it makes Niall gasp softly when Liam subtly nips at his lower lip. Snogging Liam feels revolutionary in a way that he can’t quite understand; but it makes him press forward, kissing harder, wanting more. There are sparks shooting along the back of his spine; something fluttering high and mighty, making him dizzy with intoxication. 

And then it’s over too quickly, Liam pulling them apart gently as they both breathe heavy for air. He keeps one hand on Niall’s cheek, fingers heavy and firm, while the other hand slides down to rub comfortingly along his side. 

“You okay?” Liam asks, lips slightly bruised and voice scratchy. For some reason, Niall wants to run his thumb along the plush of Liam’s lip, wants to be the only reason Liam sounds like that. He realises belatedly, that his heart is still hammering; loud and raucous that it almost seems like blasphemy that Liam hasn’t noticed. 

He nods once, incapable of working his mouth. It didn’t bother him ten minutes ago, but Niall’s suddenly incredibly conscious of how close they both are, the heat of Liam’s body warm and heady through the fabric of his clothes. It does things to Niall’s mind that he’s not yet ready to acknowledge. 

He rolls off of Liam, gently dislodging his friend’s grip, before laying spread-eagled on the rest of the bed space. On television, some golfer makes an impressive hole-in-one. Niall couldn’t care less though. He realises that Liam’s probably still watching him, waiting for something. An answer, maybe. So, Niall tries to give him just that.

“Great,” he tries. “’Feel fucking perfect.” He can’t tell if that’s a lie or not; everything around him is suddenly spinning at Mach speed. But he does feel lightheaded with some inexplicable exhilaration that leaves his mind running ten paces ahead of him. He _does_ feel some kind of great, which is strange to say the least but not unwelcoming. 

Liam doesn’t say anything to that – quiet as he observes from where he sits. Niall wishes he’d say something; anything really. Because the silence is starting to settle around them, thickening in a way that makes Niall feel a little uneasy. He chances a glance at Liam, surprised to find the intensity of his gaze; searching. 

Suddenly, there’s a tension that Niall hadn’t expected. But there’s a lot of things about tonight that’s just plain unprecedented, and that’s just one of many to occupy the spaces of Niall’s mind. He averts his gaze, and breathes heavily, trying to slow the racing of his heart. Only, it does nothing for it and the fiery tingle is still buzzing along his skin like hot electricity. 

It takes a while for Niall to recalibrate – mind finally unfogging and skin no longer burning. He’s almost convinced they’re not going to talk about it until-

“And the hypothesis?” Liam asks finally, right as the golf broadcast swings into a commercial break. The advertisement is loud and annoying, promoting some cheap, knock off brand of Cheerios. 

“Huh?”

“Your research,” Liam prompts patiently. He reaches for his phone, forgotten on the night stand, and goes back to playing with it, as if nothing has happened at all. Something about the way Liam does it feels like a closure; like a missed opportunity. As if the doors to something bigger had just shut itself while Niall had been staring blankly at an open invitation.

“Oh,” he mumbles instead. He scrubs at his eyes and then curls into himself, rolling across the bedding until he bumps into the solid form of Liam, tucking himself against his friend to hide from the privy eyes of the world. Unfortunately for him, the contact sets off another surge of emotions too complicated for him to process at the moment. He groans, unsure of what to say. 

“No good?”

Niall doesn’t know what that means – doesn’t know what Liam’s thinking. But if they’re talking about his "hypothesis" then… “Nah…"

Liam hums. And it could have meant anything really, but Liam doesn’t push it. Instead, he reaches out and tangles his free hand in Niall’s hair, massaging gently at his scalp, empathetic. 

It had been one kiss. Just two boys fooling around because they can. Except Niall feels as if his heart might just about beat right out of his chest, skipping up his throat and gumming his mouth with an unfathomable rush of heartache. His heart won’t stop tripping over itself. Suddenly, everything is frustrating. But even more so, everything is _confusing_. The kiss was supposed to fix this, but somehow, it’s worse. 

If there’s anything he got out of this though – it’s that Harry Edward Styles is a liar and Liam does not, in fact, taste like cherries. 

-

Niall doesn’t really know what to do with himself, or what to do with Liam really. The other man makes him nervous on levels he hasn’t felt in ages. The feeling is strange, because he’s known Liam for so long now, and he’s never once had this issue of feeling so giddy and light, so full of _air_ , every time Liam so much as looks at him. 

It’s become unbearably difficult to be in the same room as Liam. 

He doesn’t avoid Liam. Not because he’s brave or cool or anything like that, but because he can’t. Not when they practically do everything together collectively as a band. What he does try to do though, is to keep a friendly distance. He doesn’t scramble to fit in next to Liam on the sofa – even when the space is the perfect shape for him. Doesn’t look for Liam when he’s got nothing better to do. Doesn’t stick around for too long when it’s just the two of them in a room. 

Unfortunately for him though, Liam doesn’t stay his distance. Always lingering in the peripherals, like he’s two steps short on saying something. Like he wants to talk about it because Niall definitely _doesn’t_. At least not now; not when his mind is still roaring with the memory of it. If he closes his eyes and focuses hard, he could vaguely recall the ghostly pressure of Liam’s mouth against his. Soft and sweet and so utterly intoxicating. 

The problem with all of this is that Niall isn’t sure if he’d have done things differently – if he’d have _not_ kissed Liam – had he been able to turn back the time and change things. The thought makes him run impossible circles round his head. Which is why he’s trying to empty his thoughts late at night, strumming harshly on a guitar at the kitchen table as they roll through yet another American state. 

“Wanna go grab some tacos?” Liam asks, slipping into the seat opposite Niall. His eyes are bright and clear. Unbothered. And that bothers Niall - can’t shake the feeling of dread that starts snaking up his throat. “There’s a gas station further down with a taco drive-through. Not that we’ll be driving but you know.”

They haven’t done this in a while. Getting tacos. Or if Niall wants to scrutinise things further: they haven’t talked with just the two of them in a while either. Unwittingly, he tightens his grip on the fretboard of his guitar. 

He glances out the bus window. It’s dark. Late. Two weeks past the kiss. Niall can’t really pretend the way Liam can. There is too much chaos in his mind, and being in close proximity with Liam just makes the wires of his thoughts tangle into one another.

“Nah mate, I’m good,” Niall answers. He snaps a guitar string, fingers desperate to twist into something. 

Liam pulls back, leaning against the back of the chair. His expression shifts as the words settle: eyebrows shooting up his forehead, making him look the very image of surprise. Liam has always been easy to read, and Niall feels his stomach pinch with a feeling he still can’t understand. He grips the fretboard harder still as his heart starts skipping in a rhythm uneven. 

“Niall James Horan saying no to food?” Liam gasps, melodramatic and teasing. Except Niall’s really not in the mood for jokes – not in the mood for being picked on. Least of all if it’s Liam who’s making a jibe at him. 

“Fuck off,” Niall scowls, glancing down at his guitar. It’s rare that he ever means it when he says it; words slipping out in reflexive rebuttal. This time though, he does mean it – just wants to be left alone so he can dither over his situation in peace. And it must have shown with his tone of voice because when he looks up, Liam’s scowling right back at him. 

“Hey-” Liam starts. But Niall really doesn’t want to have to talk about this. 

“Li, I’m just not in the mood for tacos, yeah?” he cuts in, curtly talking right over Liam, voice obnoxiously loud in the small space. 

It's enought to make Liam hesitate.

“Wanna do something else then?”

“I’m good.”

“We could put mayonnaise in Louis’ socks?”

Niall looks up, and Liam looks hopeful, eyes beseeching and so, so endearing. Had he been in a better mood, there would’ve been no way he’d say no to that. It just so happens that he's in the worst mood ever. He scowls, and strums a chord. “I’ll pass.”

He hopes Liam’s gotten the memo. That Liam finds his cue to just leave him alone. But, Liam fidgets quietly, rubbing absently at his arm. His gaze is trained on a stain on the table, lips pressed into a tight line. Somehow, the silence is worse. 

“We shouldn’t have done that, huh?” Liam says finally - slowly, drawing out the sentence in measured pauses. His tone is neutral, and his expression remains unfazed. He looks back up at Niall, absolutely put out. But he offers the smallest of smiles, the littlest of slants to his eyebrow.

It does nothing but make Niall feel a little queasy; unsettled as his stomach does an uncomfortable flip. He doesn’t know what it is he needs to hear given the situation of things, but he’s most certain that whatever it is, it certainly isn’t _that_. “’s got nothing to do with that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Liam returns. Except his voice is small, devoid of its usual warmth. Suddenly there’s a distance stretching between them that’s awning and dark; empty. 

“Payno, I’m just not in the mood for tacos,” Niall repeats. Frankly, he’s not even sure if this is about tacos anymore, but what else can he say?

Liam arches an eyebrow, but he looks knowing. “You could still come with me,” he reasons. He says it in a way that makes it sound like a request, an invitation. _Please come with me._ Liam doesn’t seem to understand, and Niall feels the annoyance boil over.

The growl that starts in his throat slips out, loud and uncontrolled, fused heavily with frustration. “You asked if I wanted tacos, so, no I do not want tacos. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to move. I just. Don’t. Want. Tacos,” he bursts out. The anger hits like a flash point, there one second and gone the next. But by then, the damage is done.

Liam stares at him mutely, parsing the situation. There’s a glint in his eyes that Niall doesn’t even want to try to get a read on – is he angry? Is he upset? Niall can’t tell through the floodgates of his mind. But apparently, he’s been loud enough that someone’s heard him. There’s the sound of footfall as someone approaches, and Harry’s head pops in from the doorway. 

“I hear tacos,” Harry says. “Are we getting tacos?” Then he pauses, as if sensing something amiss. He glances between the two of them, feeling the tension in the air. Nervously, Harry laughs. “Am I interrupting something?”

Yes, Niall thinks blithely.

“Nah,” Liam says instead. His expression smoothes over, demeanour brightening. A smile pulls effortlessly across his face as he takes Harry in - the change upsets Niall for some reason, it makes his stomach churn. He doesn't look when Liam stands, chair dragging across the floor unpleasantly. Doesn't look still when Liam says, “But I _am_ about to go get tacos. Wanna come with?”

Niall knows he’d been the one to decline, but he can’t help it that he suddenly feels betrayed. Getting tacos had been _their_ thing, and it almost feels like an unwelcomed intrusion that Harry would go in his place. He almost takes it back; almost offers to go too. But Liam doesn’t really give him that time because he disappears into the back of the bus, squeezing past Harry to go grab his wallet. 

-

“Oh, it’s another one of these questions,” Louis says into the mic, and the crowd cheers. He goes over and slings his arm around Niall, mischievous smirk making the corner of his lips quirk deviously. Niall laughs as Louis pinches him in the side. 

The air is muggy in the stadium in the sweltering summer heat, but there’s a thrill to it that just makes him feel so alive; like he could run laps across the world and never stop. In some ways, he supposes, doing world tours is exactly what that is. 

The stage is the only place he truly feels comfortable these days: the exhilaration of it all makes it easy to just live in the moment. Makes it easy to forget about everything that’s gone down around him. When he’s bouncing across the stage, lights electric and blinding, he doesn’t have to worry about how unbothered Liam has been since their last confrontation. How normal he continues to be. How normal everything will continue to be. 

It’s unfair that he’s the only one caught up with these emotional attachments. If he’s going to be honest – the indifference hurts. But he’s not going to admit that. Not when he’s still trying to put a name to it all. 

He turns to Louis just as the projection lights up the stadium. It’s the Twitter section again, and Niall has always liked this segment the best. Because he never answers the questions seriously; gets to be as goofy as he likes. Always finds the time to make a joke or two where he can. And he knows he can always count on Louis to make as many terrible jokes back at him. 

“If you could kiss any celebrity, who would it be?” Louis reads. 

And maybe Niall doesn’t like this segment as much as he thought he did. The frown etches into his face before he’s even aware that he’s doing it. He gets an uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu – he knows this is exactly how the entire predicament with Liam had started. Somehow, he’s expecting Liam to repeat his answer, and the very thought makes Niall want to hurl. 

“Who would like to go first?” Harry asks. He walks over to where Liam is sitting on a stage prop, and leans against him. Niall watches as Liam’s arm comes up to curl around Harry’s waist, fingers splayed against the sharp jut of his hip as he steadies their curly-haired friend. The sight makes Niall narrow his eyes contemplatively, the taste of acid strong in his mouth. He stays silent as Harry continues to speak. 

“Would anyone like to go first? Liam, would you like to go first?”

It’s almost unfair how the world continues to spin, blind to Niall’s plight. Suddenly, he wants things to stop. Suddenly, he wants to stick his head into a pit of sand and just never re-emerge again. He looks away; has to be sure he doesn’t catch Liam’s eyes when the inevitable comes. 

Except it doesn’t. 

“Oh wow. That’s a lot of options,” Liam says, and Niall can’t help but look anyway. Liam looks up at Harry and smiles. Dazzling, gorgeous and not for _him_. “Harry, if I picked you, would you choose me too?”

For a millisecond, the world does stop spinning. Niall chokes on air. He feels the repercussion like a burst of hot red inside of him – a hurt incredibly sharp where he can’t touch. A dreadful sinking feeling, as if his heart had turned leaden.

“I’ll choose you,” Harry affirms, kind and affable. Then he leans down to press a quick kiss to the side of Liam’s temple. Not once do they look his way. 

Everywhere around them, the girls are screaming, and Niall’s ears are ringing with an intensity that actually makes him feel ill. There’s a sudden rush of blood to his face, like he’s embarrassed or ashamed. But Louis is there, right where he needs him to be. First there’s a squeeze, then an arm tightening round his shoulders, as if to ground him back to reality. 

“You’re both weird,” Louis snorts, but he rolls his eyes fondly and nudges Niall. “What about you, Nialler?”

But Niall really isn’t paying much of an attention. He stares across the stage where Liam and Harry are whispering softly to each other. A secret trade of words that has Niall feeling an inexplicable tightening in his chest; the feeling threatening to choke him out, a strange upset snaking up his throat and making him gag on something bitter and mean. He’s starting to get an inkling of what this is all about. 

Louis nudges him once more, hard enough to jostle him out of his stupor, but not enough to bruise. 

“Uh, Selena Gomez,” Niall says, tossing a random name out there. Liam still doesn’t turn to look at him. Is still engaged in conversation with Harry. Niall doesn’t like that at all. 

“How haven’t kissed her yet?” Louis asks jokingly. 

On reflex, Niall says, “Fuck off.”

-

He’s watching with an intensity that’s probably unhealthy, but Niall can’t help it that he just can’t look away. There’s about ten minutes before they need to go live for an interview, and Liam’s sitting on the dressing table right by Harry, gently plating Harry’s hair – idle and restless. 

They’re having a conversation, quiet and too far out of earshot for Niall to catch. He shouldn’t feel indignant about it but he does – because they’re always having conversations now. Always in each other’s pockets like they’re the only two people stuck in their own private orbit. And Niall isn’t sure if he’s just never noticed or if this is _new_. Somehow, it feels like the former. 

He scowls, eyebrows furrowing. Somehow, it feels as if time is slowly being dragged through molasses; ten minutes stretching impossibly long. Niall just wants to get away; wants to be crammed side by side with the boys so he doesn’t have to watch this gooey display of affection between Liam and Harry – like an outsider looking in on something so personal, so private. Something that could’ve been _his_. 

The thought should have surprised him – but it doesn’t. It makes his scowl set deeper, wrinkles lining across his forehead as he chews frustratedly at a nail. 

“You could try growing out yours too,” Louis comments from behind. It makes Niall jump, and he turns around immediately, cheeks burning crimson. 

“Huh?”

“Your hair? It’d be quite the sight but I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” Louis hands him a bottle of water for reasons Niall can’t begin to understand. But he takes it gratefully, anyway. 

“Mate, what are you even saying?” 

Louis clicks his tongue. “You’ve been staring. A lot. In case you’ve yet to notice. Obviously, you’re jealous of Harold’s luscious locks.” The sarcasm is dripping, and Niall knows Louis’ doing it all on purpose. 

He balks at that, though. Offended by the mere thought. “Why on earth would I be jealous of hair?”

Louis narrows his eyes, and does the unthinkable. He motions obviously towards Harry and Liam, hands making gestures that make it evident that they’re talking about their friends. Had Niall any pride left, he might’ve hit him. “Well, talk to me Nialler,” Louis tuts. “What about this image is making you so positively envious?”

The sharpness of Louis’ mind has always been something to be feared, and Niall has never felt so perturbed and naked under Louis’ unwavering gaze. He fibs it as best as he can. “’m not jealous about anything?” It’s not convincing, and Niall won’t even try to pretend. 

It takes a while for Louis to actually say something in kind. And when he does, it reeks of plastic. “Oh!” he says, eyes widening dramatically. “Well, colour me surprised.” Only, he doesn’t sound the tiniest bit surprised – doesn’t even make the effort to appear mildly apologetic for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. 

Niall would’ve told him to shove it, but he knows it won’t do him any good. Not when Louis’ absolutely right about everything. So instead, he cracks open the bottle of water in his hands and chugs it like a lifeline. 

-

It is by complete accident that he walks into them backstage. 

A simple quest gone awry. His phone charger, plugged into the wall just beyond. Five minutes before rehearsals is all it takes for him to feel like a jilted lover.

Before he can stop himself, he makes a gasp that echoes loud in the quiet of the room. Then he loses his footing in his haste to escape, stumbling over some equipment boxes before trying to steady himself on an empty clothes rack that quickly gives way, unable to carry his weight.

The effect of his wreckage is instantaneous, and Harry and Liam set themselves apart almost immediately, jolted by the ruckus unfolding before them. The whole thing is embarrassing, but the feeling is secondary to the way his heart rocks unsteady between his ribs; waves of envy making itself potent and pushing right at his skin. 

It takes a second for him to actually register what he’s seeing: their faces flushed, with red stained high on their cheeks, grins faltering as if they’ve been caught doing something wrong. Liam still has a hand on Harry’s face, holding Harry’s chin in the perfect vee of his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Hi,” Niall says stupidly. 

“Are we starting?” Harry asks, head slanted to look at Niall. He doesn’t look sorry – not that he has reason to be, but Niall wished he didn’t look so casual. As if he hadn’t just been caught making out backstage when the rest of the crew had been running around and jumping through hoops. 

It aggravates Niall further still that they’re still tangled into each other’s spaces – as if the intrusion didn’t mean anything; as if they aren’t just as embarrassed about the predicament. 

Suddenly, he’s not feeling so pleasant. Not feeling up to his usual carefree, happy-go-lucky attitude. Suddenly, all he wants to be is petty. So, he does just that. “What does it matter,” Niall snaps. “Haven’t the two of you already gotten started?”

The minute he says it though, he immediately wishes he hadn’t. They both stare back at him owlishly; twin stares of wide, rounded eyes. It makes Niall feel terrible – the way his words had been wielded to hurt. So venomous, and cruel and unlike himself. The shame catches on quickly, like a fire blazing right through, burning every single thing it touches in its wake, and turning his skin hot. 

“Niall-” Liam starts, hand finally falling away from Harry’s face. And Niall has never felt more of a dick than he did this very moment.

“Sorry, that was out of line,” Niall cuts. He raises his hands and backs away slowly. “Y-you do what you gotta do, I’ll. I’ll go… find Louis.” He gestures vaguely to the fallen clothes rack and scattered hangers. “’ll fix that later, you just leave that there.”

He makes a quick exit while his friends are still staring at him, baffled. They’re not laughing at him, but it’s easy to imagine that they are.

-

It’s somewhere between two and three in the morning, the bus rolling down another road with the street lamps burning tungsten outside. Niall loses sleep the same way he loses Liam’s attention; slow and painful. 

He’s tired. He’s been running useless circles through the maze of this mess, and he doesn’t know what to do. Everything is too normal; so unchanged – as if he’s the only one going through a metamorphosis as the whole situation unfolds before him. 

The problem is that there is no problem. That he’s the only one getting riled up with the situation. That he can’t actually fix anything, or confront anyone, because at the heart of things, nothing is actually _wrong_. 

It makes him do more mental gymnastics than he’s ever done since he’s left school. He’s snappy and touchy over the trivial things, and he feels like he’s going insane. He tries to remain level-headed about it, but he can’t. He scowls, scratching at the peeling paint by the window of his bunk. It’s habitual; an outlet for his frustrations. 

He stops when he hears the tell-tale sign of someone else awake. He listens quietly to the person shifting restlessly in their own bunk, sheets shuffling loudly into the silence. Then there’s the sound of someone patting at their mattress, dusting off the fabric of their sheets. The silence comes again, and Niall’s about to start peeling once more when suddenly- 

“There was gum in my hair,” Harry half-whispers half-declares into the night air. 

The silence stretches on for a moment, and then: a loud snort.

“What are you on about lad,” Louis whispers back, the laugh evident in the way his voice lilts. 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Harry replies mildly. And then as if an indication, Niall feels a gentle probing coming from under his mattress. “Are you listening to me, Niall?” Harry asks. And then he prods the underside of Niall’s mattress once more with his foot. “I know you’re awake. Please stop scraping the paint job. It’s falling onto my mattress.”

Niall groans, foolishly caught in the act. He rolls over, and pulls open his bed hangings. He squints into the darkness, only to find Louis staring back at him from across, and Harry’s head lolling out from the side of his own bunk from below. 

“What are you even talking about?” Niall hisses, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he glances between his two friends. He chews at his lower lip, feeling somehow small under their scrutiny. “And why are we having a conversation at this hour?”

Harry shrugs, or attempts to, from where he lies. “I just thought it would help,” he says slowly, almost calculative. “You know, from that day backstage.” 

“Oh,” Niall says simply, feeling all ways uncomfortable suddenly. He’d tried his best to flush the memory out of his system but it mostly didn’t work. If he lingers too long on that fragment of a memory, the bitterness just makes itself at home on the tip of his tongue. He inhales sharply, and lets out a loud exhale. “Okay… Yeah. Is that all?”

“Do you know what I’m saying?” Harry prompts. 

“Yeah...?”

Louis snorts once more. “Do you, _really_?”

A sigh, from somewhere in the darkness. It could’ve been either of them, and Niall doesn’t care enough to want to know. 

“I’m saying, we didn’t kiss or whatever it is you thought we did. Li was helping me take out a piece of chewing gum that got stuck in my hair.” Harry shuffles a bit, sticking his head further out so his hair hangs around his face. “Do you feel better now?”

Niall scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

This time, it’s Harry’s turn to frown. “Well, I don’t like to say it but, you’re being… difficult… ”

He knows they’re both waiting for him to say something. But if Niall were to be honest, he doesn’t know what he should be saying. Doesn’t know what to tell them. They end up playing the waiting game, staring at one another just waiting for someone to give. They can’t really be discussing this of all things in the middle of night, can they?

“Are you going to admit it now, or do we still have to keep this up?” Louis asks finally. 

“I don’t have anything to admit-“

“ _Lad_ ,” Louis groans, exasperated. He props himself up on an elbow, turning to face Niall fully. “Do we really have to spell it out for you? Surely you must know by now? You fancy our Liam. Like, you want to kiss him.”

“It’s all over your face,” Harry quips. 

Niall splutters, feeling his face burn. “I don’t-“

“Yeah, you do!” Louis exclaims, voice pitched a little too loud. “Dunno what you’ve been telling yourself lad, but it’s not working. Hasn’t been working for weeks now. _Weeks_ , Horan. You’re putting us through a grind here.”

“Well, I’ve already kissed him,” Niall says crossly. He wants them to drop it, but if this journey had taught him anything, it’s that life can get trying sometimes. 

Louis lets out a dry bark of laughter. “And now you want more,” he says, loud and unfazed. “You’ve been an insufferably jealous twat, and you know it.”

Niall winces, suddenly all too aware that Liam’s actually _there_ , asleep under Louis’ bunk. And if they talked any louder, they might as well climb into Liam’s bunk and talk right next to his ear. “Keep it down,” Niall hisses, getting annoyed himself. 

Louis snorts. “I will if you stop being so daft.”

This time, Niall’s exasperated. “What did you want me to do? Do I just go ‘hey Payno, think I’d like to kiss you again’? What if he puts my face through a wall?”

“Oh _God_ ,” Louis says. 

“What if he doesn’t _like_ me?” Niall continues, positively whining now. 

“We’re talking about Liam Payne right?” Harry asks, edge completely taken out of his voice. He sounds like he’s about to laugh, and Niall wants to go down and shake him senseless.

“Are you laughing at me, Harold?”

“I would never.” Except he is; it’s there in his voice. 

“He’s a besotted fool for you, Niall,” Louis grumbles, sounding almost pained. There’s a rattling of plastic as he draws his bed hangings close, and Niall can almost imagine the eye roll. “The two of you are making the rest of us miserable. And if you don't talk to him, I will.”

The conversation ends with that declaration. Truthfully, Niall would have left it at that, but then something else comes flooding back to his mind. Something that he's been meaning to bring up with Harry for a long time now. The opportunity just never presented itself, but now is as good a time as any. 

“By the way,” Niall says, breathing out the words into the dark, “he doesn’t taste like cherries.”

“Didn’t ask, but okay,” Louis mumbles from his side of the room. 

But there’s also the faint sound of rustling, almost like a nervous shifting. And then softly; so quiet that Niall almost doesn’t hear it: “I know. I was making that up.”

_What._

"I've never kissed him, so I wouldn't know."

Okay. Wow. 

“I was only trying to help,” Harry finishes, subdued with an underlying disappointment in his tone. “Sorry,” he adds. It’s sincere and down trodden, and Niall feels bad for him too. 

“It helped,” Niall reassures. Because it did. Where would he be had it not been for the promise of cherry-flavoured kisses? 

He doesn’t sleep for what feels like forever; lying there awake, just listening to the soft breathing of his bandmates. If he were to be honest with himself, he’s half hoping Liam had been awake through it all so he wouldn’t have to go through the whole ordeal of confessing. 

-

He wakes up at the crack of dawn with two hours of sleep under his belt, and eyebags heavy under his eyes. Usually, he’s not up this early. Usually, nobody is. But today seems to be an exception to many things. 

He climbs down the ladder and hops into the shower. And as he makes his way to the kitchen area for some cereal, he finds the bus door open with the morning chill creeping in. He’s about to cuss out something nasty about open doors when he spots Liam outside.

His priorities shift in a matter of seconds. Apparently, Liam is more important than food, and Niall finds himself toeing on his sneakers as he hops off the bus and wanders out into the cold. 

“Payno,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

Liam startles, and turns. Then his facial expression melts into a smile. “Good morning,” he answers. Chipper. Bright. Niall’s not sure if the world needs another sun. “You’re up early,” Liam says, as if Niall isn’t aware. 

“So are you,” Niall returns pathetically. He doesn't know what else to say - it annoys him how bad he is at this. And then, as if the whole world is just as tired of him for not getting his shit together, a big gust of wind blows across the open parking lot, tousling his hair and snaking up his shirt, making him shiver, goosebumps breaking out across his skin. He makes a face; already regrets having gotten out of bed. 

“You look awful,” Liam comments, but he says it kindly. On instinct, he reaches out, but stops himself shortly. He hesitates for a second, hand stilled in mid-air, and Niall takes a step closer; an invitation. He leans into the touch as Liam brushes hair out of his forehead. The gesture is sweet, and Niall has missed him. “Didn’t sleep well?” Liam asks.

How could he have? After everything that Louis and Harry had said. After everything that’s happened. He’s frustrated, annoyed, confused. But above all, he wants Liam. Wants all of him. His attention, his presence, his love. 

“Slept terribly,” he admits. He kicks at a pebble on the asphalt. 

“I slept wonderfully,” Liam tells him, teasing. He’s an asshole - but he’s Niall’s asshole, really. Niall refuses to have it any other way. 

There’s another gust of wind, stronger this time. The trees in the distance are trembling; leaves flying. It’s cold (insultingly so, given how it's still late summer), and he knows he should go back inside. Liam, evidently, thinks so too. 

“I’m going to go put the kettle on for some tea,” Liam says, turning to go. But Niall doesn’t want him to, doesn’t want him to leave for _tea_ of all things. Doesn’t want to end the magic that happens to be 7am with two hours of sleep. 

He moves, knowing exactly what it is he’s doing. His hand goes up to reach for Liam’s, pale fingers closing over tan ones; palm flat against the back of Liam’s hand. The contact is enough to stop Liam in his tracks, and he turns back around, expression quizzical but also concerned. 

“You alright?” Liam asks. There’s a crease between his brow that says he’s worried, and Niall doesn’t recall when he’s started learning the subtleties in Liam’s expression. 

He licks at his lips, nervous. “Yeah,” he says, quietly turning Liam’s hand over in his so he can get a better grip. If he had been feeling a little more gutsy, he might’ve tried sliding their fingers together, fitting his fingers neatly through the gaps of Liam’s. But his confidence fails him the one time he needs it the most, and he can only train his eyes longingly at their linked hands. “Was just wondering if y’could stay out here with me for just a bit longer.”

At that, Liam laughs softly; breathy and light – indescribably charming. He gives Niall’s hand a gentle squeeze, curling his fingers in turn and returning the grip. “’Course I could. You know I would never say no.”

And well, truthfully, Niall knows that. What he doesn’t know though, is whether Liam is staying because he asked, or because he truly likes being around Niall. He thinks back to what Louis had said last night, and breathes deeply. He wants to trust Louis. He exhales and takes a leap of faith. 

“Do you like me?”

“Said as much, haven’t I?” Liam says. “I told you I liked you very, very much.”

And he had. But Niall hadn’t realised the weight of those words then; hadn’t realised they had been uttered with so much affection. 

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Liam shrugs. “Was waiting for you. You wouldn’t have said yes then.”

It’s probably true, what with the way he had laughed it off the first time Liam said he’d kiss him. The way it hadn’t been this big of a deal when Niall had started all of it. 

“Did you know?” he asks.

Liam hums, running a thumb over Niall’s knuckles. Soothing, and kind – gentle as if Niall could break. “I had a feeling,” he says finally. “Think all the other boys had some sort of idea, really.”

“So, it was just me then. ‘Cause I didn’t realise how much I liked you until I thought I couldn’t have you.”

“I guess so,” Liam says. “It was funny for a while, and then not so much. Louis got impatient, and then Harry felt bad.”

“It’s still a bit overwhelming,” Niall admits, embarrassed – embarrassing still with how shy and reserved he’s being. 

Liam laughs, charming. The smile reaches his eyes as he gives Niall’s hand another squeeze. “I can wait,” he says softly. “Been doing a lot of that.”

Niall doesn’t know if there’s anything braver, more emboldened, kindly and loving, than Liam’s patience. His heart swells impossibly large and for the first time in a while, it doesn’t actually hurt. 

They stay silent, side-by-side, watching as the blue of the sky turns clear and transparent. And when Niall chances a glance at Liam, he sees the same brightness reflected in his eyes. His heart gallops at a speed a million but somehow, it’s okay. He understands. 

Liam understands, and that’s really what matters the most. 

-

There are days where he thinks he’s taking things too slow – the way Liam smiles at him like he’s the entire world. The way Niall just wants to grab his face and kiss him stupid; until they’re both breathless and pink and a complete giggling mess. 

There are also days when he just doesn’t know what to do. Because they’ve never really talked about it since that day with the clear blue sky and clearer brown eyes. But Liam lets him hold his hand, lets him sleep in his bed. Always goes out of his way to make the smallest of contact with the blonde man. 

So, Niall just lets it be. Just waits and waits and waits. 

And before he knows it, it’s been another five months. And before he knows it, he’s at a New Year’s party, fingers curled round Liam’s wrist while the other man talks animatedly with some girl who’s shooting heart eyes his way. 

He doesn’t like that. 

He tugs gently, and waits for Liam to wrap up his conversation before turning his way. He’s saying something, but the music is too loud and Niall can’t hear. He doesn’t like that either. So he tugs some more and Liam follows, willing and trusting, as if Niall wouldn’t bring him to a dark alley and just gut him or something. (He wouldn’t, would never.)

“You alright?” Liam asks once the music is nothing but a booming pulse in the night. He reaches out and smooths a hand up and down Niall’s side, a comforting gesture. 

“Perfect,” he says. “Just wanted to be with you.”

Liam glows; eyes perfect crescents. The small dimple in his cheek visible. “Well, you’ve got me now,” he murmurs fondly.

It’s true – Niall does. So he takes both of Liam’s hands in his, squeezing lightly before tugging the other man in closer. “Kiss me,” he says. He knows now, what it is that he wants. What he’s been waiting for this whole time. 

Liam looks at him amused, but his gaze is soft and his hands are softer, where they’re curled against his palm. 

“Why? It’s not midnight yet.” It’s routine at this point. The same rallying back and forth; the same questions, the same answers, the same people. Except, maybe nothing really is the same. 

Niall’s been waiting for this for a long time now. 

“Because I like ya,” Niall answers happily, finally brave enough to turn the words over on his tongue. “Because there’s a new hypothesis that needs testing.”

Liam laughs; light, like a huff of air. But his eyes are bright with affection, the brown in them almost golden with the glint of the street lights. “And what would that be?” he asks.

Niall shrugs. “Would be nice to know just how much I really love you.”

Liam hums. “I’d like to know that to.” 

It makes Niall shudder – a raw wave of emotions rolling right through him. He tightens his hold on Liam’s hand, and pushes himself up the tiniest bit to meet Liam’s gaze. “Then kiss me,” Niall repeats, quietly this time. 

And Liam does.

**Author's Note:**

> i get stronger every time i come across one of those "ew people ship niam???" tweets 
> 
> comments are appreciated! or if there's like some kind of fic trope you're looking for, u can feel free to leave that too because one day something might come off of it
> 
> thank you for reading! oh! and a happy new year c:


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